


Goanna

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Female Bolg, Ficlet, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 05:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4167633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas finds a lurker outside his camp with some very strange motives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goanna

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Legolas somehow saves femBolg's life, she is smitten and tries to court him (in an ork way of course). Legolas decides that if Tauriel can date a dwarf, he can date an ork. bonus:Azog is a supportive parent, wrapped around his baby daughter's finger” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=21863915#t21863915).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

His footsteps are feather-light, posture low to the ground, centered and ready to spring aside at the first sign of movement. It’s still strange to be slinking through the woods along the Northern edge of the Long Lake when he’s spent so much of his life in only the towering trees of the Greenwood, but he’s skilled and can adapt. He’s been to mountains and back. He peers through the dark with complete surety. Something’s been following them. Something’s been leaving the hulking carcasses of wolves at the foot of their camps, like some sort of bizarre, carnal offering. Tonight, it ends. They’ll be back in their proper woods in two days, and he has no intention of leading strangers into his home. He left Tauriel by the fire, a fit distraction, while he hunts the unknown. 

Circling back towards the camp, it’s on the very edge of the wilderness’ clearing that Legolas spies it. The towering form of an orc is crouched behind a smattering of rocks, peeking around the edge to where the firelight licks through. It isn’t one of the smaller drones, but a big, hulking creature of white-grey flesh and metal clinging to its grotesque form. From the curve of the back and hips, it could be female, but it’s always difficult to tell with such haphazardly designed beasts. It isn’t until Legolas is just behind it that he realizes that he _knows_ this creature. It’s the one he fought along the bridge during the battle—the one he saved before she fell to her death. Why he did it, he still doesn’t know. He heard the horn and saw the signals—the war had ended before his fight. The battle was won, the pale orc limping away with what little it had left. And Legolas stilled his blade, sparing the life of this vicious warrior.

Legolas is a stronger warrior. He’s already proven that. He draws his bow before he whistles sharply, drawing the orc’s attention, and she whirls around with wide, beady eyes, a scar cut sharp between them. There’s no hair on her head, and her form is nearly twice as wide as him—odd proportions indeed. When Legolas occasionally dreamed of leaving his stifling home and meeting new peoples, orcs weren’t what he meant.

He asks her, his bow trained on her breast just above her battered armour, “What are you doing here?” His voice is tight, commanding. Why he doesn’t shoot her now, he doesn’t know.

To her credit, there’s no fear in her eyes. There’s something else he doesn’t recognize, and her cheeks seem to colour darker than before, though what colour, Legolas couldn’t say. He has to search his memory for her name—Bolg, he thinks? She runs a long, flat tongue along her lips before haltingly answering, “That should be obvious.”

Legolas arches a brow then quickly stops himself—the action reminds him too much of his father. Even though she’s kneeling on the ground, her head comes all the way up to his chest. When he doesn’t answer, she grunts, “I want you, elf.”

At first, he doesn’t understand, but then he informs her, “If you mean revenge—”

She cuts him off with a snort and gets to her feet, his bow rising with her but inexplicably not loosing. She looks at him with all the boldness of a servant of darkness who’s never known fear. Growling, reedy and hot, she repeats, “I _want_ you. What did you think I was courting you for?”

“Courting?” Legolas... truly doesn’t understand. His thoughts seem to freeze. If she’s saying what he thinks she is... but she can’t be. He’s never heard of such a thing with orcs. He didn’t even know they _could_ feel such emotions, a want aside from conquest. But then, he knows nothing of how orcs spawn. For good reason, he never spared it thought. 

“Bringing you meat,” she mutters. Her voice is grating, interesting but almost difficult for his ears to listen to. “You’re a pretty thing, elf, but you’re too skinny. I would fatten you up right.” In Legolas’ stunned pause, she adds, “And I’ve heard on this journey that you’re a prince—do they starve their princelings where you come from, or have you just not tasted a real woman’s cooking?”

Legolas isn’t particularly thin for an elf, but even more baffling, he couldn’t fathom eating the food of an orc. Sure this is some strange trick, he tries, “Did Azog put you up to this?”

Bolg stiffens immediately at his name. But she sniffs, “He’s supportive of my choices.” Legolas finds that difficult to believe.

He finds _all_ of this difficult to believe. Yet, he’s no more prepared to kill her now than he was then. He tells himself it’s only mercy, and she isn’t doing anything threatening right now. As far as he knows, orcs aren’t capable of the complexity required for lies. And she’s been stalking them this whole way from the mountain and done nothing about it. He finds himself lowering his bow, though he doesn’t remove the arrows just yet.

This is ridiculous. He could never _date_ an orc. He’s never heard of such a thing. Perhaps, it’s true, that Tauriel has chosen to date a dwarf, but that is a very isolated thing, and while he can think of no reason why one _couldn’t_ date an orc, surely no elf would. Surely not Legolas, son of Thranduil, although the thought of bringing an orc home to meet his father does almost bring a smile to his face. 

While he thinks, Bolg openly ogles him. What he first took for hunger is clearly now a different kind. She eyes him with a fierce _lust_ , and she licks her peeled-back lips again before cooing, “You wield your bow very skillfully.”

Torn, Legolas replies, “Thank you.” 

Honestly, he’s surprised such a vile creature would think they had a chance with him. Yet he finds her self-assurance vaguely impressive, in a way. She’s clearly confident. She’s a talented fighter. She... _wants him_.

And he reminds himself that outward beauty by the standard of elves isn’t everything. If he believed that, he’d be little better than his father. Thranduil would throw a tantrum if Legolas were to court such a creature. It’s irksome to think that Azog would be a more understanding, more accepting parent than his own. 

She breaks his silence again to growl, “Are you going to shoot me, or do you want to find out what it’s like to fuck a real warrior?”

That isn’t something he’s prepared to think about, however flattering the offer. But he does remove his arrows from his bow. She’s no threat to him. He tells her tightly, “Do not bring me any more meat.” She nods with immediate acceptance. He slowly decides, “We may... talk.” 

She smirks. He nods behind her and ushers her back to his camp, wondering both what in the world’s become of him and how thrilling it might be to unravel something truly _new_.


End file.
